


Scorpius

by yellow_crayon



Series: Constellations [3]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF T'Challa (Marvel), Domestic Fluff, Erik Has Feelings, Humor, M/M, Mpreg, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-17 00:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14176947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_crayon/pseuds/yellow_crayon
Summary: “I think your absence has left our daughter with some…abandonment issues,” T’Challa observes, peeling back the soft covers to reveal the small child that had snuck in some time during the night and wrapped herself tightly around Erik’s midriff.“Oh bummer, and here I thought you were just happy to see me,” Erik retorts drily, gesturing to the knee pressing painfully into his crotch.(Sequel to 'Orion')





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BeanieBaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeanieBaby/gifts).



> Alright, this pairing just keeps dragging me back into the quicksand no matter how hard I try to leave. 
> 
> I saw the Jungle Book with my bf's nephew this weekend, and now I have the strong urge to do a Jungle Book/Tarzan crossover with lost baby Erik and panther god T'Challa raising him. 
> 
> I need to go dunk my head in a bucket of ice outside. K, bye.

“I think your absence has left our daughter with some…abandonment issues,” T’Challa observes one early morning shortly after Erik’s return. The sun is barely peeking over the distant hills, and their bedroom is mostly swathed in shadows when the king peels back the soft covers to reveal the small child that had snuck in some time during the night and wriggled between them. Amara’s arms are wrapped tightly around Erik’s midriff, her face pressed into his bare chest, fast asleep.

“Oh bummer, and here I thought you were just happy to see me,” Erik retorts drily, gesturing to the knee pressing painfully into his crotch. “A little help, your highness.”

T’Challa shakes his head with a smile and gently coaxes their sleeping child off of Erik’s body. His alpha surprising him by saying, “Hey, I didn’t say to take her away.”

Erik shuffles around a bit and pulls Amara close again, his expression relaxing at the sight of her small serene face. He puts a hand over the child’s back and grins up at T’Challa smugly, “she likes me more.”

He rolls his eyes at the childish jab, “wait till the freshness wears off.”

“I’m always fresh, kitten,” Erik sticks his tongue out, “you’re the one that’s past your expiration date.”

Amara chooses that moment to shift in her sleep. Erik grunts as her knee connects with his crotch once again.

“I agree, she does like you more,” T’Challa says sweetly, leaning over to press a kiss to his husband’s grimacing face and slipping from the bed to start his morning.

Two nights later, they find her standing at the edge of the bed again, one small fist clutching at her night gown. She blinks tiredly at them and muffles a yawn.

“Bad dreams, cub?” T’Challa murmurs, his chin propped on Erik’s shoulder. She nods and Erik opens his arms without a word. Their daughter climbs into bed, and with T’Challa at his back, Erik goes back to sleep, Amara held securely in his embrace.

 

* * *

 

“Sometimes I still think this is just a dream,” Erik says one afternoon.

They had a rare break from their separate duties. The weather was beautiful outside, so T’Challa had suggested lunch outside where Amara and a bunch of other children were playing in the shallow pools.

“What do you mean?” The king asks.

“I dunno, maybe I’m already dead and this is just some made-up fantasy shit,” Erik shrugs and leans back, the line of his body relaxed. Under the sun, his eyes are a bright golden amber. He picks at the food on his plate and says in an almost helplessly amazed voice, “I mean, how can she be real?”

T’Challa follows the direction of his gaze and finds their tiny daughter chasing after a boy twice her height, cackling like a hyena and short legs pumping at full speed. Her resemblance to baby Shuri is more than a little terrifying if T’Challa is to be honest. He is surprised Erik hasn't made the connection yet.

“She should be,” T'Challa replies mildly, taking a small bite from the sweet fruit in his hand, “I should know, after all, I did go through the painful process of pushing her out of my body. It would be rather disappointing if she were a mere figment of our imagination.”

Erik lets out a sharp laugh at the unexpected words. The loud sound draws Amara’s attention, and she turns to wave at them across the water, grinning brightly when Erik waves back.

“Amara, be gentle,” T”Challa calls out to her when Amara throws the crooked stick she’s holding like a boomerang at the older boy’s unsuspecting back.

Erik whistles, impressed. “Damn, were you like that when you were a kid? She’s gotta get it from somewhere.”

“Not you?” T'Challa lifts a brow at his mate.

“Hell no, I was a model kid growin' up, straight As, not a single detention, always listened to my elders, quiet, respectful, ya know, all that shit,” Erik boasts.

“What went wrong?” T’Challa teases, quickly pulling away when Erik attempts to elbow him.

“Seriously? I’m working my ass off and you lovebirds are out here enjoying a picnic in the sun? How is that fair?” Shuri pops up from nowhere and T’Challa flinches so hard he drops the half-eaten fruit in his lap. His scowling sister shoves him aside and plops down next to Erik. She steals his coffee and chugs it down in three swallows.

“What else you got?” Shuri demands, eyeing Erik’s plate.

T’Challa sees the alpha make the mental connection as his gaze darts between the scowling girl seated next to him and their small daughter splashing around in the water a few feet away.

“Ah, crap,” Erik says as Shuri liberates the plate from his lax fingers.

 

* * *

 

Erik is a capable man with a few impressive degrees under his belt. The first one to notice and take advantage of that is, of course, Shuri. T'Challa finds them standing over a 4D rendering of a bridge one day in her lab, heads bent close together and discussing possible modifications. The Jabari had finally green-lit the project after M’Baku had found Amara cheerfully sailing down their waterfall in her signature bucket for the fifth time in three months.

T’Challa accompanies them on the first visit to the mountains. Erik has yet had the chance to fully take in the Jabari homeland, so naturally he has…questions.

“Are those goats?” T’Challa’s husband squints up at the sharp snow-covered mountain cliffs and tugs on the edge of the king's sleeve.

T’Challa follows his gaze and sees the small moving dots in the distance, “yes. The Jabari are known for their famous cheeses.”

“Man, those are some freaky-ass kung-fu spider goats,” Erik says, ignoring Shuri’s snicker, “and you said the Jabari are vegetarians?”

“They are,” T’Challa confirms, taking Erik’s arm and pulling his mate’s attention away from the bizarre cliff-climbing goats as their ship starts the slow descent. “Remember what we discussed, let me do the talking. M’Baku’s temper can be unpredictable at times.”

Erik grunts a confirmation and allows T’Challa to straighten his crooked collar with gentle fingers. He brushes a kiss over Erik’s knuckles and leads him down the ramp to where the Jabari leader and a handful of his men are waiting. M’Baku’s got a thunderous scowl on his face as he approaches, sizing Erik up with a downward twist of his lips. T’Challa tenses as the two alphas lock gaze and Erik squares his shoulders, ready for a fight.

Then, M’Baku’s face splits into a wide grin and sweeps the other alpha cleanly off his feet in a crushing hug, thumping Erik enthusiastically on the back.

“Amara truly takes after him,” M’Baku beams at the king.

“What the hell is happenin’, T’Challa?” Erik grits out between clenched teeth, twisting with some difficulty to aim an accusatory glare at his mate who is staring at the exchange with slightly parted lips. Behind T’Challa, Shuri is biting her fist to muffle her laughter.

“I thought you said they were vegetarians,” Erik hisses when M’Baku sets him down like a ragdoll and moves to greet Shuri who is no longer smiling, “ain’t nobody’s gonna get that big on peas and carrots alone,” He cracks his neck and groans, "I think the dude broke my fuckin' spine.”

“Maybe it’s something in the cheese?” T’Challa offers, giving him a sympathetic smile that quickly turns to alarm when M’Baku’s attention lands on him after releasing Shuri. The Great Gorilla grins and opens his arms, flashing them two rows of enormous white teeth.

“That won’t be necessary, M’Baku.” T’Challa’s left eye twitches as he smiles thinly. He takes a step back, the panther habit glowing a molten silver around his throat, “a simple handshake will do.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s definitely something in the cheese,” Erik groans when T’Challa and Shuri sees him after two hours of negotiations with M’Baku’s younger more level-headed brother Mandla. M’Baku had insisted on showing Erik around the Jabari mountains to pass the time.

“What happened to you?” T’Challa asks, staring at the gaping hole in the left thigh of Erik’s trousers and his torn tunic.

The alpha grimaces and turns to aim a baleful glare at M’Baku, who follows at a much more sedated pace. “He set his demon goats on me. Let’s just say they bite.”

“How?” T’Challa asks, moving to inspect Erik for any serious wounds, “Our clothes are vibranium-enforced…”

“Them goats on steroids, or cocaine,” His mate accuses, “or both.”

“Yeah, I think that’s the reason why they don’t have any guards patrolling the mountains,” Shuri observes. “The crazy goats are enough to keep anybody at bay.”

“Your daughter loves them,” M’Baku points out, folding his arms over his chest.

“I’m starting to think building this bridge is a bad idea,” Erik mutters darkly.

“Then, you are going to be very unhappy about our decision, my friend,” M’Baku places a massive hand on Erik’s shoulder and says.

Erik narrows his eyes, “what decision?”

T’Challa bites his lip and says reluctantly, “the Jabari would like you to stay and build the crossing.”

Shuri huffs and lifts her middle finger at the Jabari leader.

The king sighs and explains, "They are wary of Wakandan technology, but—”

“You can do the same, without the girl’s witchcraft,” M’Baku interrupts cheerfully, “T’Challa says you graduated from a place called ‘Mitt' with a bridge-building certificate.”

“It’s MIT, you uneducated baboon, and my specialty was in long-range ballistic missiles, not architecture,” Erik pinches the bridge of his nose with a pained expression, “Look babe, I know I have an engineering degree, but you can’t be serious. His goats are gonna eat me alive.”

“The Jabari were very specific in their terms,” T’Challa says, squeezing Erik’s hand, “I would not agree to this if there are other options. This is a very important project for Wakanda and our new peacekeeping policies, my love.”

“I’ll help you in secret,” Shuri cups her hand over Erik’s ear and whispers. “We should get it done in a month’s time.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna last that long,” He hisses back.

“Look on the bright side,” she gives him a consolidating pat on the arm.

“That’s it? You’re not gonna say what the bright side actually is?”

“Still trying to find one,” Shuri admits.

“You’ll need these,” M’Baku says helpfully, dropping heavy furs over the other alpha’s shoulders when Erik sneezes.

“Well, they got great cheese,” Shuri says in the ensuing gloomy silence.

Erik gives her a flat look, “I hate cheese.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short drabble update!

Erik finds out on his first night in the mountains that the Jabari do not believe in mattresses. The fur spread, although sufficiently warm, does not cushion his body against the unyielding Jabari wood beneath. Erik has gotten so used to T’Challa’s soft bed and its avalanche of pillows over the past months that he finds it impossible to fall asleep. Instead of lying in the dark and wasting time, he spends his first night going over the schematics for the crossing and scribbling calculations over the massive sheets of parchment that M’Baku had provided. When the sky starts to lighten in the distance, he has worn the piece of charcoal down to a nub.

“Jumping already?” The leader of the Jabari says when he finds Erik seated at the edge of the cliffside. He sounds amused. “I had hoped you would last at least a day.”

“It’s beautiful,” Erik says, ignoring M’Baku's words. Here, the sun is a bright blinding disk nestled between the pure white snow caps of the Jabari mountains. Its warmth is a gentle thing here, not the fiery heat that leeches the moisture from the earth in Wakanda during long summer droughts.

“More beautiful than the sunrise from the King’s balcony?” M’Baku asks.

Erik laughs, “I ain’t fallin’ for that trick question, bruh.”

“Smart man,” M’Baku observes, smirking as he walks over and grabs a fistful of Erik’s furs, “come, let us eat. Then, we will put that big brain of yours to work.”

 

* * *

 

The insomnia does not bother Erik so much as the unavoidable fact that he is going soft. The more time he spends around T’Challa, the more he becomes used to waking up in a soft bed next to a warm inviting body, and that thought makes Erik agitated beyond reason. He’s not a pampered prince. He’s a soldier. He’s slept in worse conditions than on furs over a slab of hard wood, so why is it so difficult to fall asleep now? Erik keeps the exhaustion and irritation well-hidden behind a mask of indifference as he goes about his everyday duties. If M’Baku notices, he does not say anything.

A week into the project, T’Challa arrives unexpectedly to check on their progress, and M’Baku invites him to stay for dinner. Erik doesn’t catch on until he returns to his room, resigned to spend another restless night pouring over his engineering designs until dawn.

Instead, he finds the king seated at the foot of his bed, warm brown gaze calm and collected as he says, “M’Baku expressed concern about your lack of sleep.”

Erik’s first instinct is to track down the overgrown apeman and kick him over a nearby cliff. T’Challa must’ve seen the flash of annoyance on his face, because his omega grabs Erik’s wrist in a firm grip and pulls him down onto the furs.

“He needs to mind his own goddamn business,” Erik snaps when T’Challa squeezes in warning.

“His intentions were good, my love,” T’Challa murmurs, tracing the dark circles under Erik’s eyes with a gentle thumb. This close, Erik catches a whiff of that familiar soft, warm rose scent from his omega.

“I’m fine,” He muffles a stubborn yawn against T’Challa’s shoulder.

“Of course you are,” T’Challa hums, carding soft fingers through Erik’s dreads. The alpha doesn’t realize he’s nearly nodded off to sleep until T’Challa shifts into a more comfortable position on the bed.

“You stayin’ the night?” Erik blinks sluggishly at his mate who opens his arms wordlessly. He should be stronger than this, but Erik is bone-tired from the lack of sleep, so he goes without protest and mashes his face against T’Challa’s neck. T’Challa smiles and runs a gentle hand over Erik’s back.

“It appears that I am,” The king whispers, tightening his hold around his alpha’s pliant shoulders. “Would you like me to sing you a lullaby? Mother used to sing to Shuri when she refused to calm down.”

Erik summons enough energy to laugh, “you know what, kitten, that’d be fuckin’ great.”

“Language,” T’Challa reprimands, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

As it turns out, Erik doesn’t get to hear much of the song because he falls asleep in seconds.

 

* * *

 

When Erik next opens his eyes, T’Challa is disappointingly absent from the room, but the furs still smell faintly of him. He looks down at the black and gold tunic draped over his chest, brain struggling to connect the dots.

“Rise and shine, N'Jadaka!” M’Baku’s cheerful roar echoes from somewhere outside Erik’s room. He groans and drops back down onto the bed.

“Fuck,” Erik murmurs at the ceiling when he finally puzzles out the reason to his insomnia.

And if he goes to sleep with the cloths T’Challa left behind pillowed beneath his cheek that night...

Well, nobody has to know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a bit more! Enjoy and drop me a comment!

In the Jabari tribe, there is a higher level of authority that comes in the form of a tiny shriveled raisin of a woman that everyone, including M’Baku, reverently refers to as ‘Umakhulu’. She’s approximately the size of a decorative garden gnome, and Erik probably wouldn’t have noticed her the first time they met if she hadn’t thwacked him painfully in the ankle with a cane twice as long as her body when he’d walked by.

For some bizarre reason, Umakhulu takes a liking to him. To make things worse, that seems to signify some form of acceptance into the Jabari tribe, because now M’Baku takes to embracing him like a brother every time they meet and the suspicion disappears from Mandla’s eyes to be replaced with gentle humor.

“Umakhulu never misjudges, if she says you are trustworthy, then you are,” The younger of the two brothers explains to Erik one afternoon over schematics of the new bridge. Erik had to tweak things a bit to satisfy the Jabari’s demands of minimalistic technology, but he figured if the ancient Romans could do it with the primitive materials they had, so could he.

“Uh-huh, you know what we call that back in the US?” Erik glances at the little old lady perched on the stool a few feet away. She’s got so many wrinkles on her tiny face he can’t even tell where her eyes are when she closes them. He leans over and whispers in Mandla’s ear, “ _dementia_.”

The cane whizzes out of nowhere and Erik winces when it connects with the back of his thigh. Mandla grins, flashing him a set of perfectly white teeth as he pats Erik on the shoulder sympathetically, “she’s sharper than she looks, brother. I’d watch that tongue if I were you.”

 

* * *

 

He should’t like them so much, but Erik does.

There’s something about the Jabari that is completely different from the rest of Wakanda. The phony reservation from the other tribes that grates on Erik’s nerves is refreshingly absent. The Jabari people sees Erik for what he is and accepts it without the need to change or judge him. M’Baku is worryingly blunt most of the time, but there is humor and intelligence behind the towering seven feet of pure muscle. They grudgingly become friends of sorts after the man solves Erik’s sleeping problems. Mandla, the younger of the two alphas, is fiercely loyal to his older brother. His personality reminds Erik a little of T’Challa, serious and reserved on the outside, but with the occasional mischief peeking through, just enough to keep the people around him on their toes.

He thinks he is going to miss them when this all ends, which is a problem.

Killmonger isn’t supposed to have friends. He’d committed himself to being alone a long time ago. That was until T’Challa had come along, smashed all his plans to pieces, and somehow managed to pry open that tightly locked place in his chest and burrow his way in.

“You are Amara’s dad,” A voice pulls Erik from his morose thoughts and he looks up to find one of M’Baku’s orphan kids peering down at him with a timid smile. Her leather ball had rolled to a stop next to his foot. He can barely see M’Baku under the pile of excited children a few feet away, but Erik knows the Jabari leader is listening to every word.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” He asks, picking up the ball and handing it over.

“You have pretty eyes, just like her,” The little girl beams, her lips parting in a wide grin that shows off two missing front teeth.

The honest words pull a soft laugh from Erik’s chest as he asks, “what’s your name?”

“Njeri,” she chirps.

“Well, Njeri, that is the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to me,” He tells her, smiling a little when she giggles delightedly. From the corner of his vision, Erik sees M’Baku watching their interaction with a stupidly sappy smile. He fights the urge to roll his eyes and beckons the little girl closer to whisper something in her ear. Her face lights up as she runs off.

Erik laughs out loud at the expression on M’Baku’s face when Njeri bounces her ball off the bridge of his nose.

 

* * *

 

“You have turned my precious babies against me with your wicked charms, N’Jakada,” M’Baku is positively pouting when Erik next sees him. It is alarming how such a big beefy man can pull off such a girly expression. Erik has the decency not to snicker at the sight of the fading bruise on his nose.

“She’s strong, Njeri,” He comments, pushing his calculations so M’Baku can join him on the ledge overlooking the mountains. Erik likes it up here where the air is crystal cold and the sun makes the snowcaps glitter like a layer of cut diamonds.

“Her father was one of our fiercest warriors,” M’Baku confesses, “a close brother that Mandla and I grew up alongside.”

“How did he die?” Erik asks.

M’Baku does not answer for a long time, and when Erik turns to him, puzzled, he finds the other alpha watching him calmly. There is no judgment or anger in M’Baku’s gaze, but Erik realizes the reason for his silence and feels something like guilt settles cold and heavy in the pit of his stomach. He tears his eyes away and clenches his teeth.

“He died protecting the people he loved,” M’Baku says finally.

“Love,” Erik snort contemptuously. “is for the _weak_.”

“It is not considered a weakness in the Jabari to love,” M’Baku says, “our warriors are strong because they have something to protect.”

“Yeah well, where I grew up, you ain’t got room for that useless shit, and even if you do, the army’ll beat it out of you,” Erik replies. “No fuckin’ attachments, that’s the way to go. My division train their men to be machines and we never missed a single target.”

“Is that what you were taught? To feel nothing?” There’s something that sounds like genuine pity in M’Baku’s voice. “We are humans, N’Jadaka, not machines. What you say goes against our very nature.”

“Well, you’re lookin’ at the product. You tellin’ me I’m some failed project?” Erik crosses his arms over his chest and dares M’Baku to refute him.

“No, but it hurts, doesn’t it?” The other man asks, reaching over to tap a finger over Erik’s heart, “here. Constantly.”

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about,” Erik lies through his teeth.

M’Baku’s gaze is all too knowing when he recites, “He who conquers others is strong; but he who conquers himself is mighty.”

“Quotin’ Chinese proverbs at me now?” Erik lifts an eyebrow. “And T’Challa told me y’all didn’t believe in books and shit.”

“I believe you are a mighty warrior, N’Jadaka,” M’Baku says instead, squeezing his shoulder. “You should too.”

 

* * *

 

M’Baku and Mandla accompany him to the palace when Erik finishes building the bridge. Seven weeks, almost twice as long as he and Shuri had planned, but Erik had taken time to test out all the calculations himself before going forward. He’s not one to bullshit his way through any project he’s assigned, but Erik does sneak in more vibranium-enforced rods than necessary. He figures they need it, what with M’Baku’s heavy ass going over it all the time. Mandla beams when he tells Erik the new route shortens the travel time to the palace to a third of what it used to be.

T’Challa’s eyes light up at the sight of him when the Jabari warriors push open the heavy doors to the throne room. And as much as Erik hates to admit it, his heart does a funny little summersault when T’Challa abandons his kingly image and practically throws himself into Erik’s arms. He takes a deep whiff of T’Challa’s scent and feels his knees go a little weak.

“Hello, my love,” T’Challa murmurs, warm hands cupping Erik’s cheeks.

“Hello yourself, kitten,” He returns quietly, “Did you miss me?”

“Shuri and I were almost certain M’Baku’s goats had eaten you alive,” his omega confesses teasingly and leans forward to sneak a small kiss against Erik’s lips. “I am relieved to see that is not the case.”

“They, uh, kinda grew on me, the goats,” Erik admits, shrugging when he hears Mandla laugh behind him.

“And?” M’Baku booms threateningly as he wanders over and drags Erik from T’Challa by the nape of his neck.

“And the people too…” Erik mutters with a resigned sigh.

“Our doors are always open to you, brother,” M’Baku says, setting Erik down after another one of his choking hugs.

“I see,” The corners of T’Challa’s eyes crinkle as he smiles fondly. “I will rest easy knowing that Erik has a place to go if I ever tire of him.”

“You mean ‘when,’” Mandla smirks.

“You are fuckin’ hilarious, man,” Erik deadpans.

 

* * *

 

“You got no idea how much I want some meat right now,” Erik confesses when he and T’Challa are finally alone. He does not expect the king to flush a dull brick red at the words and say, “not now, Erik. We need to go see Shuri and Amara first.”

Erik lifts a brow and says slowly, “Not that I’m not flattered, kitten, but I didn’t mean that delicious booty of yours. I meant food. I’m not vegetarian material, no matter how much M’Baku nags.”

“O-oh, I see,” T’Challa blinks. Then, he turns stiffly and says, “well then, in that case, let us head to the kitchens and they can meet us there.”

“You’re horny,” Erik observes, deciding not to be the better man and let things go.

“I am not,” T’Challa bristles, facing resolutely away from his mate as he stalks down the hall. The skin peeking out atop his collar is still flushed, as are the tips of his ears.

“You so are,” Erik chases after him gleefully, “we could go fuck one out right now, if you want. I wouldn’t mind.”

T’Challa slaps his hand away when Erik reaches out and grabs a handful of his ass and squeezes hard. “Stop it, I misread the situation. I apologize, Erik,” The king, ever so polite and courteous, bites his lip and murmurs guiltily.

 _He really knows how to push all of my buttons,_ Erik thinks lazily as he manhandles T’Challa against the wall and kisses him. Arousal flares acute and persistent when the omega moans and opens his mouth, arms settling around Erik’s shoulders and thighs spreading to allow him access.

“You’re right, this is a thousand times better than a hot meal,” Erik pants against T’Challa’s lips. He slots his knee between the king’s legs and puts his hands on T’Challa’s backside again, kneading at the tight flesh. “Fuck, I want you right now.”

“Erik, we shouldn’t,” T’Challa protests feebly when Erik reaches into his trousers and circles a finger teasingly over his wet opening. But instead of shoving the alpha away, he grinds himself against Erik’s thigh and exhales shakily at the sensation.

_“T’Challa!”_

Ramonda’s alarmed voice makes both of them jump, and Erik winces when T’Challa’s teeth close over his lower lip. They scramble apart, both frantically attempting to rearrange their clothes to best hide their wilting erections. Ramonda is standing at the top of the stairs, arms folded over her chest.

“You are a king, T’Challa,” She reprimands sharply, descending the steps like a regal lioness, “at least keep up the pretense in public.” She turns to Erik with narrowed eyes, “and you…”

“Hey Auntie,” Erik greets, trying to smile past his bleeding lip.

“Mother, it was my fault,” T’Challa tries to say, but Ramonda sidesteps her son and throws her arms around Erik’s surprised shoulders, crushing him to her chest in a tight hug. She’s never hugged him in the past and Erik freezes for a second before relaxing into Ramonda’s embrace and wrapping his arms around her. The realization that he is home does not fully hit until now, and Erik sags against her, breathing in the scent of warm chocolate that always surrounds the queen.

The Queen Mother sighs, “When did you get back, child?”

“Just now,” Erik answers vaguely, meeting T’Challa flustered gaze behind her back. His mate clears his throat and looks away when his mother twists to frown disapprovingly at him.

“T’Challa, he just got back,” Ramonda scolds her son, “let the boy eat and rest before you have your way with his—"

“We were heading to the kitchen, Mother,” T’Challa cuts in quickly before she can finish her sentence. He swallows thickly and admits in a small embarrassed voice, “we got a bit…distracted is all.”

“You must be famished. I will make you something to eat,” Ramonda decides, smoothing Erik’s unruly hair from his face. She takes his arm in hers and starts leading him toward the kitchens. “Come along, T’Challa.”

**Author's Note:**

> This will be more if inspiration strikes. Subscribe if you are interested. Also, shoutout to Beanie for helping me think up domestic fluff bits. Definitely check out her writing.


End file.
